The Untold Legend of Erik the Slayer
by GettingGreyer
Summary: We all know the grand tales of the Dovahkiin. We know the stories of the Companions. And the legends of the great Talos! Yet, the story of one hero, of one champion, of one adventurer remains untold! This is the story; the legend of Erik the Slayer and his journey.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Elder Scrolls, Skyrim or Erik the Slayer or any other characters, events and/or locations that are depicted in this fan fiction. All are the rightful and proper owners of Bethesda studios and other related companies. This is merely a work of fan fiction and I do not derive or receive any money, reward or profit from this story.**

* * *

You probably haven't heard of Erik the Slayer. Why would you? He was just a simple farmer from Rorikstead. He was the son of the local innkeeper; Mralki. 'He wasn't that special'; is what you're probably thinking. Well... You would be wrong.

For Erik was so much more than a simple farmer. His whole life he dreamed of being something more. An adventurer. A hero. He hungered for a blade in his hand. He yearned for a fallen beast to lay at his feet. He wanted to travel through ancient tombs and caves. He desired an adventure.

Erik the Slayer was a true nord. He had the heart of a warrior and a hero. It would have been nigh impossible for him to remain a farmer. His journey began when he was just a child, when he was simply Erik.

* * *

"-And that is how I won the Great War!" A boisterous white-haired nord said.

The two children who had been listening to the tale stared wide-eyed in admiration at the young man. The two young and gullible nord children could easily believe that someone of this strong confident build could fight off a hundred elves.

The nord was tall, he towered over many men at nearly seven feet. He had a small scar that adorned his left cheek, just below his eye. His eyes were an emerald-green and were nearly covered by his unruly white hair. His snow hair was easily the most notable characteristic of his appearance. He had explained to the two boys that his hair has always been white and never a brown or blond.

" What happened to the village?" One of the nord boys asked. The child was the oldest of the two at seven years. The boy had dark brown hair that stopped at the base of his neck.

"The village was very thankful to me and decided to name it after me: Skal. They erected a statue of me in the center of the village. In fact you two should visit, it's quite a sight." Skal boasted loudly.

"Don't lie to the children Skal!" A loud, strong feminine voice yelled drunkenly.

Shortly after that outburst an arm appeared around Skal's shoulders. The redguard woman who was attached to that arm looked over to the nord boys and said, "Don't listen to a word this fool tells you. His parents were still whelps when the war ended."

"Davina! Don't you see I'm telling a story here!" The young nord protested wriggling his head out of the woman's arms.

"That's right, a story! But there's no need for you to screw over history while doing it!" Despite being clearly drunk the woman spoke clearly as if sober. She was a good head shorter than Skal but her muscular arms showed she was just as strong if not more. She had long black hair that ran down her back. She had a small part of her hair fashioned into a single long braid that she left to hang on the right side of her face.

"Erik, that lady seems mad." The seven-year old spoke to his younger friend beside him.

"Err, maybe. She seems more drunk than anything."Erik was a child of five years at the time. He had fiery red hair and blueish-gray eyes. His face was strong even as a child when his cheeks were still fat. His face may have been that of a child but the fire of his soul ran through his body. The fire of a warrior.

"That makes it worse..." The boy muttered to himself so softly that Erik couldn't hear him.

"We can't all be obsessed with the past!" Skal retorted, his voice holding a wry hint of playfulness.

"Well someone needs to. Your past is filled with running scared at every bandit on the road."

"At least I'm not afraid of a simple spider!"

For a few short seconds there was silence. Then an argument erupted from the two. They were fierce and Erik half expected their voices to pierce each others' skin.

The Frostfruit Inn which was normally quiet held many more voices this night. A traveling group of adventurers consisting of many men and women had stopped here in Rorikstead for the night. Many of them-with the permission of Rorik- were staying outside the inn; sleeping in their tents. A few were currently in the inn drinking mead and filling their bellies. As well as entertaining the two children.

"Ignore those two. Davina and Skal have a long history of fighting despite only knowing each other for a few short months." A blond nord said.

The nord's hair went down to his shoulders and had a two braids hanging side by side on the edge of his face. His eyes were a cheerful blue. He smiled widely and said, " I'm Sweyn, what are your names?"

Erik glanced nervously at his friend. "Erik... my name is Erik..." Erik spoke clearly but his voice was a little over a whisper.

"I'm-" The other boy started to say but than a loud voice rang out.

"LOKIR!" The boy flinched over the noise and looked back to see a man scowling menacingly.

"C-coming Father!" Lokir ran over to his father, his movement twitchy and scared.

"You useless boy! You should be out in the fields! Not here with this rabble!" The booming voice was savage and angry.

"Y-yes Father, I-I'm sorry Father." Lokir managed to utter.

The man wore a look of disgust as he grabbed Lokir's arm and led him outside the Inn. All the while Lokir flinched and twitched under the tight grip of his father.

Sweyn looked sadly at the boy's fearful face. It was obvious what was going on and the worse thing was it was perfectly legal. Erik being young only knew that Lokir didn't like his father. The boy had no way of knowing what hell his friend went through.

"Why are your cloths different from Skal and Davina?" Sweyn looked back at Erik.

Sweyn cloths were indeed different. Skal and Davina wore simple garments. Merely enough to appear presentable to others. While Sweyn wore a much more fashionable fabric. The cloth was of silk and the main piece was blue. The cloth had simple line designs adorned on the fabric. Also a wolf skin cape hanged around the shoulders.

"I have a much better fashion sense than those two." Sweyn joked lightly then said, "Their armor is much more beneficial in combat compared to this however." Sweyn then took a long drown of mead.

"Armor?" Erik asked perplexed. As far as he could tell they wore no armor.

"Those two left it in their room." Sweyn looked at the fascinated expression on the young boy's face and decided, "Do you want to look at their armor?"

"Yes, please!" Erik had never seen armor before. His Father had participated in the Great War, but if he still had the armor he hid it well.

"Well, follow me." Sweyn got up and walk to one of the rooms that had been rented for the night. Erik followed closely behind the man. Erik stared with a hungered excitement as Sweyn opened a chest. Sweyn moved out-of-the-way to let the boy get a look.

Erik thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. Inside the chest were two sets of armor. One was a brown fabric; leather. It was shiny and new, not a speck of dirt or a single scratch. The other armor made of steel had plenty cracks and scratches. It was clear this armor had seen many conflicts. Erik wondered what story each mark told.

Sweyn looked at the boy's expression. He recognized that face, it was the same one that Skal had when he was a boy. This kid: Erik, he was going to be an adventurer one day. Sweyn just knew that after seeing the boy's face. He doubted that even the gods could stop Erik from becoming one. This boy had an incredible future ahead of him.

"Erik!" A stern voice hollered across the Inn.

"I got to go." Erik said to Sweyn his eyes filled with a new-found purpose and determination.

Mralki looked around worriedly for his son. He had been so busy taking care of all the guest that he hadn't noticed his son vanishing. Then he saw Erik walking towards him.

"Sorry, Father. I got distracted." Erik said kindly, knowing how worried his father would get.

"Just get to bed now." Mralki said his voice gently and stern.

Soon after Erik entered his room Mralki kicked out all those who made a noise above a whisper. He may on occasion act tough and distant but all he wanted was for his son to be safe and happy. Little did he know that his wish was impossible to achieve.

* * *

That very same night, the village was attacked by wolves. The growling and snarling of the wolves was loud and ferocious, but it was the yelling from the humans that awoke Erik.

Curious as to what was going on, Erik sneaked out. It was an easy feat because for some reason Father and everyone else were not in the inn. When Erik opened the door to leave the inn he was welcomed by quite a sight.

Nearly thirty wolves were attacking the village. That was more wolves than Erik had ever seen in his life. Guards brandished their swords and did their best to defend. The adventurers did most of the killing however. Many of them were wearing brilliant shining amour, steel, leather and iron. A few of the warriors had apparently been in their nightwear when the attack began. They all held swords, axes and maces in their hands as they struck down the beasts.

Erik watched in amazement as the warriors used their weapons to move fluently and strike deadly blows at the wolves. Their movements were like nothing Erik had ever seen. Some moved swiftly and gracefully. Others used a more brutish and overpowering form of combat. Each one had a unique style of fighting so clearly visible to Erik. These people were poets and a master of their blade.

Soon all the wolves had fallen. The adventurers and guards congratulated each other on their fine kills halfheartedly. In reality everyone was at a loss to explain what had just transpired.

"I've never seen a pack so... huge." One of the adventures spoke weakly.

"The most I've seen of them at one time is five." Another one piped

"Why'd they attack?"

"How come there was so many?"

Many murmured briefly among themselves their voices near silent. Most were quiet as they stared at the bloody wolf corpses.

In the distance Erik saw his friend Lokir with his mother and father. Lokir's face was that of fear and utter shock. Erik ran to his friend to reassure him that all was now well.

Then suddenly as if it had just awoken from a slumber; one of the wolves got up and jumped at Lokir and his family. The wolf was huge possibly the biggest one of the pack. It's brown fur was matted with blood, it's right hind leg limp broken. The leg wouldn't stop it though.

The mighty wolf bit deep into Lokir's father's leg. The man screamed violently as he begged for it to stop. His wife quickly grabbed Lokir and moved him away. She whimpered slightly as she called out her husband's name. Lokir himself wore no expression at least none that Erik could read.

Erik ran to the wolf when an idea struck him. He put his hand to the dirt and lifted a rock of reasonable size and threw it at the beast. The wolf turned its head to glare angrily at Erik. The wolf now no longer looked to Lokir's father for a meal. Now it looked to Erik and the beast lunged.

SNAP!

The wolf lay dead on the ground an arrow in its eye. Erik looked over to see who saved his life. He saw an elven woman and she appeared to be about the same age of his father. She held the bow expertly in her hands and she looked at Erik with an expression that could easily of been seen as approval.

Erik looked to his friend Lokir, expecting to see a look of relief or maybe even gratitude. Instead Lokir seemed angry as if Erik had done something wrong. Lokir stood away from his bleeding father as his mother doted on the man.

Erik's own father soon ran to his son. "Erik are you okay?! What were you thinking?!" Mralki spoke as he took his son into a fierce hug.

"I'm fine Father! I'm fine! The woman killed the wolf. I'm fine!" Erik said frantically as he accepted his father's affections.

"You have a brave boy." It was then that Erik noticed Skal was standing behind his father.

"I'd rather have a live one."

From that day forth Erik wanted to be an adventurer. Whenever someone passed through town wearing armor Erik rushed to them demanding their stories of heroism and adventure. When ever he visited Whiterun for supplies with his father he went to Jorvaskr anxious to hear the tales of the companions. He'd already had a small taste of adventure now he wanted more.

Then one day someone came and granted his wish.

_**A/N: Please post your reviews. Criticism is highly needed and will be appreciated. Even some trolling would be nice (lol). I hope you enjoyed reading this fic and if you want more, please follow this story. I do not know when I will post the next chapter probably in a week or two though. Have a good day, bye.**_


	2. Chapter 2

Erik held the hoe expertly in his hands as he worked the fields of Lemkil's farm. The same boringly dull thing Erik did every day. Erik hated that farm and the plow. He hated the fields and the hoe in his hands. He cared not the importance of them and the need people had of them.

He only wanted adventure and glory not to care for the ground as if were a sickly child. He craved the cold touch of steel and the heavy weight of armor. He had an incredible desire and thirst to see the great mountains of Skyrim up close. To see the luminous and glorious sights of Skyrim that travelers spoke to him of. He wanted and needed an adventure to calm and quell his fiery soul.

"Put more back into it, boy!" A loud and booming voice yelled. "The sun will set soon!"

"Yes, Lemkil." Erik replied kindly while looking up at the sky. The yellow sun was high up showing that it was still the middle of the day. Many hours were left before sunset.

"A Harvest is soon and my rotten children won't bother to help! Fat lot of good those two brats are. I'll tell you-"As Lemkil spoke of his two daughters his voice grew to be angry and hateful.

Lemkil was known in Rorikstead for two things; his stubborn personality and the resentment he held for his two daughters: Sissel and Britte. Lemkil blamed the twins for his wife's death as she died as a repercussion of child-birth. His misplaced resentment often resulted in cruel words and perhaps even violence to the girls. Erik had on more than one occasion spoken to Lemkil about the treatment of his daughters, Lemkil had each time replied, 'Mind your own damn business, boy!'

After several hours the sun began to set and a day's work was done. Erik's muscles were sore and his hands were blistered. He was glad the day had finally reached an end. He put the equipment away and headed to the Fostfruit Inn.

"You will need to get up even earlier tomorrow. With the harvest this near we have to be prepared." Lemkil said to Erik before he left for his house.

Erik always needed to get up early to work the fields and farm the fertile land. He worked from sunrise til sunset. He wondered how much earlier he would have to wake up.

The thought of it made him tired and he let out a yawn and tousled his red hair.

Erik's fiery auburn hair had two braids in traditional nord style. Each braid on the side of his face by the ear. His hair stopped at his shoulders and wasn't too long. Erik's eyes were still the same icy blue from his childhood. The still contained the kindness and innocent naivety. However, now they held an unknown seriousness and bitterness.

Erik had long grown out of his boyish body and now he had broad shoulders and powerful arms. Over the years of plowing and grooming Lemkil's farm Erik had grown strong muscles. His broad shoulders and powerful arms made him seem commanding and invulnerable. His jaw was strong and complimented his round face. Erik was also starting to grow stubs of red hair around his mouth.

Erik looked around himself with his blue eyes and took in his surroundings. The simple buildings and homes that the people he had known his entire life lived in. The surrounding trees that hunters occasionally came out of. The road that adventurers and travelers came through on. With a fierce determination Erik thought, 'I won't be here forever!'

Erik slept and lived in his father's Inn and had been downing a pint of mead when a stranger opened the door to the Frostfruit Inn. Strangers coming through Rorikstead all the time and were not strange and actually were fairly common. It was where the Inn got the best business as the strangers often came with empty bellies and sleepiness.

This stranger was different however, the man was a nord and had thick dark golden blond hair. One eye was a bright sapphire blue while the other was a blind milky white. The right side of his face was scarred and marked with a long thin red scar that ran from his brow through his eye and down to the bottom of his face. Probably what made his right eye blind and lifeless. The left cheek bore a strange painted marking of some kind. The tattoo was blue in color and was a circular whirl. Erik did not know what it represented if anything. The man's arms were bigger than Erik's muscles making him seem like a scrawny child in comparison. Yet, at the same time he wasn't huge and imposing, he managed to come off as strong and threatening while maintaining an appearance of a kind and intelligent politician.

The most remarkable thing about this stranger was his armor choice however. He wore delicately made elvish armor. Nords have a long and strangled relationship with elvish kind especially after the Great War. The thought of a nord wearing elvish armor as this stranger did was a strange and absurd notion. Yet, here he was wearing the intricately designed golden signature armor.

"Can I get you something?" Mralki asked the stranger who was still standing in the doorway.

"A pint of ale and a hot meal would be nice." The man's voice was strange . It managed to be rough and ragged but at the same time hold an eloquence and tack that most nords did not possess.

The man walked toward an empty table closest to the bar.

"As well as a room for the night." The stranger then tossed a bag of gold to Mralki and sat down at a table awaiting his food.

The occupants were silent for a while and observed the nord drink his ale. They finally decided he wasn't that interesting and continued with their conversations and mead.

Unlike the others in the Inn Erik did not lose interest.

Elven armor was not only strange but rather expensive and a waste of gold and septims for common folk. Only those that had a true need of such armor bothered with it. Only an adventurer or at the very least a warrior required such armor.

Erik stood up and approached the individual. He sat down to the nord's right, sliding onto the bench seat. The nord took no notice of the occupant who now sat next to him. Not caring and maybe even not knowing. Erik was silent for a moment, unsure how to open up a conversation freely between him and the nord.

As he pondered this he noticed an icy chill that was striking his thigh. Strange the door was closed and a warm fire was close by. Not only that but the cold was only hitting his left side.

It was then that Erik noticed the sword the stranger wore by his side. The blade was hidden within its sheath, the hilt was clearly visible however.

The hilt consisted of what seemed to be a strange silvery metal. It had the glimmer and bitter cold of ice. The guard consisted of a simple slightly curved cross guard design. The most eye-catching part of the design was the pommel. Which was composed of a strange gem stone of sorts. The gem was finely cut and Erik couldn't seem to place the color of it. Was it blue? Or perhaps white? Grey? Maybe even silver?

The work of the hilt was master craftsmanship. Erik doubted it was made by a blacksmith as most would consider the added etches and design a waste of time. Erik remember to a few years back when a traveling artist came through. The artisan had explained to him what exactly art was and even showed him some of his paintings. Erik had not understood the appeal but he remembered clearly how the man had spoke of beauty and art. Erik felt exactly that when he stared at the hilt of an unseen blade.

"Who made your blade?" Erik asked kindly his voice brimming with curiosity.

The stranger looked over to Erik finally giving notice and attention to his existence.

"I did, I made it back in Morrowind a few years back. The hilt however was made by a friend of mine."

"You've been to Morrowind?" Erik asked amazed, "What is it like?"

The stranger sipped his ale briefly before responding. "It's very different from Skyrim. Not nearly as cold, a lot more rain and a lot less snow."

"Yeah, but what is it really like? What did you do there? What do you see?" The child in Erik was let loose as curiosity boiled over the rim and he let question after question escape from himself.

The nord chuckled softly to himself before answering. He told Erik of the people he met. Of the places he saw and the adventures he went on. He told Erik of how he fought over a dozen trolls at once. Of how he solved puzzles in ancient tombs. He told Erik the story of his life. A story filled with adventure.

"Wow..." Erik was left amazed at the end of each story and always hungry for more. "Have you been to Whiterun recently?" Erik asked daring to be hopeful.

The nord who was no longer a stranger looked downcast and spoke softly, "Yes, I have."

Erik didn't notice the change in his new friend's demeanor but instead was filled with excitement. "So... did you see the dragon that everybody's been talking about?" Ever since about two months ago people had been coming through telling stories of a dragon at Helgan. Mralki had called them false rumors but Erik had been fascinated and optimistic. His hopes were even further elevated when rumors of a dragon attack near Whiterun had come. "Are the rumors even true?"

The nord was silent for a good few minutes and then finally not looking at Erik he said, "The rumors are indeed true... I myself fought the dragon." The nord's voice was soft and barely audible but Erik heard it and he felt a strange and exuberant happiness with in himself. A dragon! They are said to be bigger than houses and breath fire that can melt metal instantly.

Erik asked question after question about the dragon receiving short and curt answers from the nord. Finally the nord had had enough and bluntly asked his own question interrupting Erik.

"Is it true th-"

"Do you know a Lokir?"

Erik was suddenly quiet and when he finally spoke his voice was drenched in confusion. "Lokir? I've never hear of a Lokir."

"Are you sure?" The nord asked Erik. His voice holding an uncertainty of sorts.

"Yes, I'm sure." Erik said still confused about how this entered into his discussion about dragons.

"He said he was from here..." The nord spoke softly as if it were to himself.

"Well, I'm afraid I've never met him. Perhaps you should ask Rorik. He would know." Erik said kindly highly aware that his new friend was in deep thought and had melancholy sadness.

"Well... perhaps he lied..." The nord was now surely speaking to himself and Erik in an attempt to distract the nord said the first thing that crossed his mind.

"You are so lucky to be able to travel around. I want to be an adventurer like you but my father says I can't." Erik remembered the countless arguments he and his father had had over this issue. "He says he needs me here to work the farm."

The nord was snapped out of his little daze and glanced at the young red-haired nord. He seemed to contemplate something and then smiled softly and said, "Perhaps I could help change your father's mind?"

Erik was flabbergasted. An almost complete stranger had just offered him something that was priceless. A chance to explore, a chance to finally be what he has always dreamed of. "Really? You would do that?"

"Of course. Would you like me to?" The nord spoke warmly and his blue eye sparkled with compassion.

"Y-yes! Yes, thank you!" Erik stuttered out suddenly nervous. "He's Mralki the owner of the Inn!"

The nord smiled and walked over to Mralki. Erik couldn't hear their conversation but after a minute or two he recognized the anger on Mralki's face. Erik could hear his heart pumping and the blood rush through out his body. He couldn't bear to look at the two and fearfully looked down at the table.

He heard footsteps behind him and looked back to see the nord grinning. " I spoke to your father and he said that he will take you to Whiterun soon to get armor."

Erik could barely believe his ears. He had spent years trying to convince his father to let him travel. Erik grabbed this tall and big stranger and hugged him. The nord was shocked to say the least but he accepted the gesture. "Thank you!" Erik whispered "Thank you!"

When the hug ended Erik looked to the stranger and asked him one last question, "What is your name?"

The stranger was silent for a long moment as if he was struggling to answer. "My name... my name is..." His eye was filled with uncertainty. Then that doubt cleared and was replaced with a brave confidence. "My name is Dovah."

* * *

**The next chapter should be up next Friday or Saturday. Please review, follow, favorite or whatever :) I would really appreciate some criticism.**


	3. Chapter 3

"RUN!" A panicky voice screamed over the roaring sound of a blazing fire. "It's a drag-" With a blast of fire the voice came to a sudden halt.

Erik turned around slowly and saw a huge and ferocious reptile flying above the ground. Directly below the beast lay a mangled and roasted corpse. The dragon was pale green in color with luminous scales. The talons on each foot were as long as sabers. The dragon's back had long ridge like spines and vast leathery wings protruding from the side.

A smirk came upon the brave Nord's face. "I've been wanting to fight one of you." He spoke fearlessly as he removed his sword from its sheath.

The Nord centered himself carefully, his shield in front, his body hidden from view. His sword ready to strike. He stood there strongly not paying any heed to the impossible being he was to fight.

The dragon made a noise that sounded like a snort of disgust and anger. The dragon then lunged toward Erik, teeth baring fiercely. Its eyes blazing with the same fire that rested in its throat.

Erik quickly side stepped pivoting on his right leg to get out of harm's way. When the dragon's teeth reached the air where Erik had once been its throat was immediately stabbed with a sword. With the neck exposed Erik had plunged his blade deep into the reptile's neck. As the blood spilled out and the beast died, Erik howled with joy. Laughing victoriously over his defeat of a mighty dragon. This was a tale that will be told for centuries.

Then a smoky darkness spilled out from the wound. The darkness enveloped Erik and soon it became the only thing he could see. "What in Oblivion!?" Erik shouted as the darkness surrounded him like a black mist. Soon he couldn't see anything but the blackness,his movements were cloaked from himself. The darkness was cold and heavy as if it were mound of black snow that covered him. His limbs felt alien and separate entirely from himself as if his body no longer existed.

"Erik...!" A ghostly voice called.

The Nord swung around wildly trying to identify where the voice came from. It was impossible to find the voice among the darkness. He was nowhere and surrounded by nothing and he was alone. As he stood there Erik became acutely aware of how young and foolish he was. Of how scared he was. He couldn't do this. He couldn't fight a dragon. He couldn't be an adventurer.

"W-where are you?" Erik's voice was small and meek. The bravery from before had left him alone with a hollow fear.

"Erik! Help me!" The voice called again and this time Erik felt a twinge of recognition.

"W-who are you?" Erik shouted across the darkness attempting to sound brave but his voice still shook with fear.

"Remember me! Please remember me! Please!" The voice yelled desperately. "You have to remember me..." The voice was crying now and among the clustered darkness Erik was starting to see something.

It was a face, the face of a small boy, the face of a friend. Erik suddenly felt happy and exuberant. He knew this boy! Erik laughed with joy. He knew this boy! He knew... who was this boy? The familiarity was gone again and Erik's laughter faltered. He was back to feeling the cold pain of fear and all he saw in the darkness was a boy. A stranger.

"No...No! You were so close..." The voice sounded forlorn and defeated. "Remember me... please... save me Erik!"

Erik awoke sweating and his heart pounding with terror. He tried to hold onto the dream but it was already slipping away. He was visibly panting from the nightmare that he could not remember. Erik had never been so afraid.

The door to his bedroom opened abruptly and after the scare of the nightmare Erik flinched with fear. He saw his father standing in the doorway, dressed in a nicer garb that was only adorned for travels and holidays. "We're leaving soon."

For a moment Erik was confused then he remembered. He was going to Whiterun to get armor. He was finally going to be an adventurer. All thoughts of a forgotten nightmare were quickly cast away. Silly dreams wouldn't bother him on such a momentous day.

As his father left the room Erik dressed himself quickly and soon came out wearing his customary smile and eager eyes. "I'm ready." He said his voice holding a joy that it hadn't held since he was a boy.

* * *

Erik had only ever been to Whiterun twice in his life before today. Both times his father had come to buy clothing or supplies for the inn. On the first occasion he had been five years old and had managed to get lost in the city. He was eventually found at Jorvaskr listening to the Companions as they retold their heroics and stories. The second time he had been seven and that time as well he also went missing. Except unlike the first time it was accidental. Erik had gotten it in his mind that he should go troll hunting and a few hours later he was found at a known troll camp with a drawn bow and notched arrow. Where he got that bow and arrow has never been clear and Erik himself had long forgotten how he came upon the weapon.

After that incident Mralki had sworn Erik would never again step a foot outside of Rorikstead. When Erik's father needed to head to Whiterun he would leave Erik in the care of Rorik or sometimes Lemkil when his wife was still alive. It was through that method that the promise had been kept all these years, until today.

The huge mountainous city of Whiterun was as magnificent as Erik remembered it. The ancient city rested on a huge bluff so that it overlooked most of it's surrounding land. The outside of the city looked like a huge stony fortification that still maintained the feel of a mighty capital. It was a well protected location in Skyrim due to the bluff it rested on. The inside of the city as Erik remembered it was divided into three sections: The Plains District which contained the shops and market as well as the Bannered Mare. The Winds District which held the homes and houses of the residents as well as Jorvaskr and the famed tree Gildergreen. The Cloud District is the highest point in a city that seems to walk toward the clouds. The home of the Jarl and other important figures resides in this district in the huge building known as Dragonsreach.

As Erik gazed at the huge city from the surrounding plains he couldn't help but feel small under the imposing capital of the Whiterun hold. He followed his father as the two walked up the slanted walkway to the city gates.

"Halt! State your business." The gate guard spoke gruffly as Erik and his father approached.

"I am here to buy my son some armor. I have come through Whiterun on many occasions to buy supplies before." Mralki spoke swiftly and convincingly.

"Carry on." The guard said after a moment allowing them through.

Once inside the city Erik was struck by the size of it. Memory had failed to properly demonstrate the busyness of the city. People walked around and entered and exited shops all around. Right outside the gate he could see on his left side the Drunken Huntsman a tavern and hunting shop. Even further left were stone stairs that led to the higher parts of the city. Then to the right side was Warmaiden's. An armor and weapons outside the shop was the forge, workbench, grindstone, tanning rack and smelting furnace. It was all a blacksmith would ever want and need. An Imperial women was outside the shop by the workbench working on what looked like a steal chest piece.

As Erik watched her work he felt a stab of jealousy and admiration. To have such skill at a craft. It was truly an art and Erik hoped to one day have such skill in swordsmanship.

"Here we are. Let's get you some armor." Mralki said smiling faintly. The man still had his qualms about his son embarking on such a dangerous occupation but he saw how happy Erik was and didn't want to take such joy away from him.

The two walked toward the shop and opened the door.

"Welcome, what can I get for you?" A huge burly Nord asked from behind a counter.

The counter held a variety of two handed blades and armor. The wall behind the Nord was decorated with an iron shield and a weapon rack. A staircase was at the left side of the room and led to the housing area of the shop.

"Some armor for my son here." Mralki said nodding to Erik.

The man eyed Erik and took it his shape and figure. Erik felt slightly uncomfortable under the man's gaze and scrutiny. "What type of metal are you looking for? Iron, steel or something more?"

"Iron," Mralki said. Erik wished that he could get a nice steel piece but he knew that steel was too expensive and that Dovah had not gifted his father enough septims to buy such luxury armor.

"I see," The merchant said as he grabbed a heavy iron chest armor piece. The man motioned for Erik to come over and started to strap on the armor.

Erik enjoyed the new strange metallic smell that entered his nostrils. He felt at peace and happy with the weight of the cold metal that now braced his shoulders.

"Looks like that fits. Would you like a full set or just that?" The man asked looking at Mralki for an answer.

Erik responded this time, "A full set but without the helmet."

The shop keeper arched an eyebrow at that. "You sure? A helmet is an important piece of any armor set."

"I'm sure." Erik said confidently. The heroes in legends and stories didn't wear helmets and neither would he. "Oh, and a shield as well!"

* * *

Erik sighed softly to himself. The young nord was currently sitting in a chair by the long fireplace in the center of the Frostfruit Inn. He was wearing his new iron armor proudly. His old iron sword hanging on his thigh and his iron shield was left in his room.

It had been weeks since Erik had obtained said armor and it was still shining new, not a speck of dust or a single crack tarnished its surface. Few travelers had come through and none of them were looking for a young and inexperienced mercenary such as Erik.

Erik leaned back into his chair and focused on that humming joy that resided in him. The joy that was so pleased to be wearing armor and to being a mercenary albeit one who yet been hired once. He thought of his new name the one that he gave himself when he decided to be a mercenary; Erik the Slayer. He thought back to what his father had said, 'Why not choose a name that represents you?' As if someone would hire a mercenary called Erik Hoe-pusher or Erik Green thumb. He also briefly wondered when his new friend Dovah would make a visit as the traveler had promised. He also grumpily thought that his friend was probably off killing dragons and saving Skyrim while he did nothing.

The door to the inn then opened and in came a male dark elf. He had pale grey skin and pointy ears. His eyes were a blood red and seemed to glow. The eyes reminded Erik of all the vampires in the old stories his father used to tell him. The elf's hair was black and kept in a bun in the back of his head.

The Dunmer wore a simple leather armor and bore a steel sword at his side. Erik instantly straitened himself in his seat, desperate to look serious and skilled.

The elf noticed this and smirked silently to himself. A few minutes later -after the elf had spoken to Mralki and received his meal- the Dunmer sat down in a chair adjacent to Erik.

"You a mercenary? A traveler? Or... something else?" The Dunmer asked Erik, his voice a ragged hiss.

"Erm, mercenary." Erik said softly feeling oddly uncomfortable around the elf. The mer reminded him of every villain in the stories that he was told, the type of villain that the hero eventually killed after losing all that mattered.

"Name's Drulvan," The elf said, his red eyes gazing at Erik as if he were a tool.

"Erik," There was an uncomfortable silence that filled the air as Erik resisted the urge to fidget in his seat. Drulvan just stared at Erik as he considered his idea.

"Are you handy with that sword?" Drulvan spoke underhandedly motioning to the blade.

Erik's uneasiness only escalated with that question. He was embarrassed to admit the truth. "I've never actually used it...before."

"Your inex-" Drulvan started to speak his voice edging on excitement.

_'Save me Erik!' 'Please remember, Please!' 'Help me!' 'Erik!'_

The voices flashed quickly in his mind causing a blinding headache. Erik's hand instantly shot to his head as if that would protect it from the pain. Soon the voices eased away and eventually the pain did to.

"Are you okay?" Drulvan asked Erik, clearly confused but not least bit concerned.

"Yeah, fine." Erik said as the voices left his memory once again.

Drulvan looked puzzled but said nothing more on the matter and continued, "Your inexperience in this case won't be a drawback but instead an advantage."

"In this case?" Erik asked as he was now confused.

"Yes, you see... I need a job done. I can't do it alone and you would be a perfect fit." Drulvan said smoothly not addressing how Erik's inexperience would be a good thing.

"Me? You want to hire me?"

"Yes, so are you interested?" Drulvan asked his voice peaking with shrouded maliciousness.

"What's the job?" Erik asked no longer wary of the stranger.

"Just the exploration of a simple tomb. Some explorers require body guards but not to worry, I highly doubt anything will be down there." Drulvan said speaking in a now rapid pace, "You will be paid about one thousand septims for your service."

"So should we meet there or leave together?" Erik asked his mind swimming with the prospect of an adventure and the promise of coin.

"We will meet there, the tomb is called Frost Run. Southwest of here, do you have a map?"

After Erik's map had been marked with the location he prepared himself to leave. He packed some food and got his shield and said goodbyes to his worrying father. He was leaving for an adventure for the unknown. He felt raging joy in his heart as he opened the door to leave the inn.

* * *

**Sorry for such a late update! I kept trying to make this chapter "perfect" and kept failing so I just decided to finally upload. Anyway please follow and review. :) Next chapter will be up in approximately 1-2 weeks. **


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